Discussing Mr. Travers

William
[How we doing?]

Dice: 6 d10 TN6 (1, 4, 4, 6, 6, 7) ( success x 3 )

William
As time went on, things seemed content to move more and more towards what one could consider normal. The sounds that seemed to skitter through the walls and the strange smells and what-have-you had all but disappeared, though the study was still a right and proper disaster. It likely wouldn't feel like anything resembling normal for the foreseeable future. Who knew and who could really tell about these sorts of things, but looking into the future only gave probabilities and possible futures, not guarantees. One of the first things you learn when you become decent with Time is that you shouldn't rely on it at all. That way lies disaster and self-fulfilling prophecies.

So, the people who lived at the old Boucher house went on with their lives, and the Hermetic in particular had since determined that he would go on with his as it had been before. You don't get much of a pass on traditional duties, Quiet or not and even if he wasn't exactly all at home William happened to be visiting a non-augmented reality enough that he didn't have any real excuse to not continue about traditional business. Which meant making phone calls, writing letters, and (at that juncture) taking up the entirety of the dining room table reassembling old manuscripts. First ripped pages, and then pages into various books.

William had a solid pile of the things with him; it was a long-term project. He'd pitched the offer of helping him as getting to work on a potentially more informative and forbidden jigsaw puzzle- he'd supply whatever illicit substances were required to make this task not seem boring. Barring that, well, who knew. He took a long pull out of a beer bottle and put it back down next to a brilliant azure cover.

"... I'm pretty sure this is a cookbook."

Margot
Margot was a great "volunteer" for helping sort books and papers and make sense and organization of them.  She seemed just anal-retentive enough the sort, and the way that she was floating anxiously about the kitchen she probably needed the distraction.  So that's how she found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor in her sweatpants and tank-top and unzipped hoodie, a bottle of beer in one hand and a dozen pages laid out before her, eyes skimming over them to set them in order, and her hand soon following to sort them into a pile as well.

"Cookbooks are a type of alchemy-- I wouldn't be surprised if someone once opened that thing with consideration of matter, or maybe even forces, or how they interact maybe."

She hadn't yet told him; he was polite enough to take plenty of time in bringing it up, and she'd been quiet or gone since she returned home the day she'd gone off into the city proper to meet with a man who called himself her father.  In this moment of quiet, though, where he pulled from his beer bottle and she did her own and she glanced up at him and then back down tot he pages again, she felt pressed to bring it up.  So she set her bottle aside and shifted how her legs were shifted so her feet wouldn't fall asleep and cleared her throat.

"...So, the other day some guy came into town to talk.  He claims he's my dad."  A glance up, to gauge the reaction.  "The Doc and Ned already know, so I figure you ought to as well, y'know?"  She looked back up at him after flipping the sixth page in the essay over into its pile, and her expression was relatively stern when she added.  "I'm handling this myself, okay?  If I need or want help I'll come asking or calling for it, rest assured, but don't assume that I need it.  I don't... I don't think anyone flaring up a fight would be helpful to the situation at all."

Her eyes hopped back down to the pages, and she reached for her bottle again.  "Though, honestly, that's probably more something I need to worry about Ned doing," she added in a lower tone before taking a drink.

William
When she'd come back before, he'd asked if hse was okay. Following that, he'd asked if she needed anything, and didn't press for information beyond that. Since her first meeting, however, William Holmes had made it abundantly clear that his presence was, in fact, available should she so request it. Dinner got done. Houses were cleaned. Worries and concerns that might be something he could alleviate were taken care of. (Except for laundry. He did not, nor does he ever, ask if someone needs laundry done unless there is something well and truly wrong and someone is well and truly dying.)

"I feel like I could turn Ned on to alchemy with that; the man fucking loves cake," he says in reply. And, with that, it was there to slip into comfortable silence again. Perhaps some things are exchanged, but in reality William was just waiting as all practitioners of Time are want to do- waiting for that moment they know is coming in three... two...

...So, the other day some guy came into town to talk.  He claims he's my dad.

His brows rose up, mouth stayed closed and while Margot was gauging his reaction it was clear the action was, well, just surprised. Not terribly surprised, but-

"So... uh... is this a weird Dad doppelganger thing? Does he look like your actual dad?" Surprise gave way to confusion. William, for his part, has precisely zero context for Margot's family life.

Margot
"Well, he looks like my dad, at least.  As far as anything else goes, I'm not sure.  I don't remember how he behaved, really.  But even so, it could be an illusion to get close and take advantage of something I've got, for whatever reason...  Which would confirm some suspicions I've got about his popping up, because he says it's just because he's only now realized I've Awoken that he's come knocking on my door."

She took another quick sip of her beer before setting it down again and flipping another page (the one she's identified as number seven) into the pile.  She was quick to add:  "I made it pretty clear I don't want him actually knocking on our door, though.  I don't know him or trust him enough in our home."

She paused again, then leaned back and sat with her hands on the floor on either side of her, heels of her hands helping support her leaning weight and fingers splayed across the carpet.  "He said he's part of the Celestial Choir, and apparently he goes around tracking down and 'helping' astray Mages try and 'find the Light'-- I find that phrasing kind of worrisome.  Do you know much about that Tradition?  Do they have, like... assassins or something?"

William
[Esoterica2+wits3, diff 7)

Dice: 5 d10 TN7 (3, 4, 4, 7, 8) ( success x 2 )

William
"My... first thought is with the Knights Templar?" he quirked his mouth up to the side while he pieced through, "they are there to wage war against the enemies of the Chorus and the faith in general. Some are a little pissy about accepting those outside of Christianity, but that's just because of some of the historical ends to the public groups of the Knights Templar. The Celestial Chorus is one of the more organized traditions out there... I mean, not organized like the Order is organized, but who is? But still. Structure. Protocol."

he drew a nice little box in the air with his fingers and then shoved the little box out of the way when he was done using it to illustrate having things in a nice, neat presentation.

"Buuuuuuut, realistically it's probably tied between either the Brotherhood of Saint Christopher, who seem to be pretty legit from what I've heard, or the Knights of Saint George? Seems very dragon-slayer-ie," he shrugged. "But no, the Chorus doesn't really... uh... do assassination. Not that I know of."

"Everybody's got assassins, though. If he were some church-sanctioned assassin, though? He wouldn't have told you about it."

A beat passed.

"I could find out more, if you wanted. I actually have about forty-seven thousand legitimate excuses to talk to people who come come into town. I'm a diplomat. Meddling and talking to people and is House Jerbiton's thing."

Margot
As ever, Margot was raptly attentive when listening to the explanation she'd requested.  William had a couple of ideas, and the words were flagged in her memory to be written down on a journal in her room and explored further later on.  For now, though, she nodded here and there while soaking the ideas in, at least up until he said he was a diplomat and supposed to be meeting people, at which point the witch paled a little and she shook her head.

"No, I don't want you to go meet him!  I'm still not sure if his motives are honest or not, or what he's really up to.  At the most innocent he wants to continue the family Tradition in a more literal way than most people mean, which sure as hell isn't gonna work.  But that's assuming the most innocent and least dangerous outcome-- I'm still not confident about what's going on.

"If you go asking other Choir members about him that word'll probably get back to him, too.  I don't know how much I want him to know we're snooping..."

She glanced down.  Turned two more pages into the pile.  Sighed as though in defeat and conceded:

"Though that might honestly be our only and best lead...."

William
"I could see if I could talk to someone. The last Chorister I knew here who was really legit let me sleep on his couch and made me do manual labor and go to a twelve step, but he moved to Los Angeles last I heard. I knew another Chorister who let me feel her up in a hall closet and we made out, so seriously: there are a huge range of people who are attracted to the chorus."

He was carefully putting some of the middle sections of the book together, some little burned edges and torn pieces before he stopped and cocked his head to the side. There were a pile of things there, and focusing on what was real and present made things a lot easier. Let it be said that drowning out the dozen other non-real things and strange sensory experiences made him a very attentive piece of company at that moment instead of his usual distracted.

"It isn't snooping if it's something I would do anyway. You didn't say anything about me-" I'm assuming- "-and so why would me doing exactly what the Order expects of me arouse any sort of suspicion? Hell, it would be good to know where he's staying, how long he plans on being here, if he plans on moving here, it's more suspicious if nobody does anything at all. It sends the message that we are patently ignoring him and, if he is somebody in the Chorus or has the ear of somebody, that could be a really shitty political move that'll end us up in hot water.

Margot
"No...," she conceded once more.  "I didn't mention you specifically...."

She tapped her fingers along the edge of a page that she was surveying for keywords and continued flows of sentence structure.  Scowled lightly (as usual), and thought aloud as she had to reread sentences over and over to process them usefully at the same time.

"Granted, he probably already knows about you, since I wouldn't be surprsied if he's scanned or read or... prayed about, I don't know, however it works for them... a lot of what he was going to find when he came looking for me.  At least, I would have if I were smart, and he is an older mage, so I imagine he must be at least a little to have made it this far.  He probably knows about you.  He'll probably find out if anyone in the city breathes his name, at that matter.  But then maybe he won't do anything about it?  I don't know, it's really goddamn hard to say..."

She sniffed some, flipped a page decisively into the pile, then glanced up at Will from under the furrowed brow.  "I could ask the bones, but that's likilihood, and I'm afraid of spooking myself and somehow sealing Fate even worse if things don't look good."

William
"Okay, so: worst case scenario. What are you expecting he is here to do? What do you think is the absolute worst thing that could be going on here?"

He regards her directly, leaves what he is working on to the side for the time being and, instead, took the opportunity to take a drink and get back into the frame of mind that involves thinking and piecing through the figurative instead of the literal.

"Ask them- they will help you figure out what to plan for in the event that this is a big thing... You're scared."

"What is Fear trying to teach you right now?"

Margot
She frowned at him, almost like she didn't like being asked what the worst that could happen could be.  The answer to that was nothing good and ended in death or something worse, and she was pretty sure they both knew that and it didn't need saying aloud, so she fixed him with a flat stare that held for a few moments before she simply said--

"Fine."

Her crossed legs pushed in unison to raise her off the floor, and bare feet (toenails painted a deep navy blue) carried her across the floor and out of the large living room they'd decided to consume all the floor space of for this project.  It was a little over a minute later when the padding of her feet carrying her back down the stairs could be heard, and she re-emerged to sit once more, but this time with a little red velvet pouch that was still drawn closed and set to rest in her lap.

The remaining several pages of the essay she'd been working on were quickly sorted (as though she was very languidly taking her time before and could actually work at much faster speeds [hey, if that were the case, she could have all of this processed in no time at all!]), then the stack was cleared out of her way.  As she cleared the stack she reached once more for her beer and finally answered a question she seemed to have considered while she was away.

"I think Fear is always trying to teach us to survive.  It tells us to check the corners and listen careful for breathing in the basement when things don't feel right.  I think it also prepares us for the worst outcomes, if we're smart enough to anticipate what they could be.  ...But it also sends you to an early grave from the stress, and I suppose that there in and of itself is a good demonstration of Balance."

A few small gulps were pulled from the beer before it was set aside once more and she pulled the rune drawstrings to open the bag to the air.

William
Flat stare was met with the kind of expression that seemed almost expectant, almost challenging- they both knew what would come from that. What the worst that could happen would be but there he was, sitting and waiting painfully patiently as though he somehow expected that this be voiced out into the public consciousness. The look dared the reality to come out into the forefront and to fall out into the reality they lived in- daring the horrible reality to be spoken into form and given a shape.

Fine.
Shoulders raise and he looks away to take a drink of beer.

"Ecstatics believe that fear is as sacred as joy," he said, "fear can keep us alive because it tells us to be aware, but it also has the power to paralyze us and leave us stagnant. You don't move. You don't think. You don't act- when it is allowed to rule instead of simply being experienced, it will drive you into a corner and force your hand. It brings reactions and not responses."

He settled down to where he could sit across from Margot and inspect whatever it was that she was doing and take in the details of it all. Elbows on knees, pants adjusted and pushed into a position that wasn't getting all bunched up and uncomfy.

"Thus spake Madness-" hands out, gestured to shadows and the world around him.

"Specifically, just... think about what about all of this has you rattled. Is it the fact that something could be pulling at a sore spot? Is it the fact that he might be for real?.. are you afraid of letting your guard down?"

"You said you didn't remember much about him- I guess... he's been gone? Is he supposed to be dead? I don't have enough of the story here to help as much as I can."